Month: February, 2014

It takes doing things that your wife asks…..even though you know you have no business doing them.

And here’s how I came to that conclusion…..

We made our weekly trip to the grocery store today.

The last day of the month and “the WalMart” are not a good combination but when you gotta go….you gotta go.

Anyway, as I follow my wife and stepdaughter up and down each aisle at a painstaking snails pace,

(Not because it was busy, but because they are both ingredient checkers and for whatever reason my wife ( who blogs as foreverpaused) decided that the grocery cart had to be loaded Rain Man style, which means she’s down with OCD…yeah you know me!)

We notice an extremely old man bending over to look at something on a shelf.

He randomly asks my stepdaughter,

“Are there table crackers on that shelf?”

We were on the cereal aisle.

Before, she replied with a wise yet inappropriate teenage answer, I step in.

“What can I help you with, sir.” I ask.

“My wife sent me to the store to get this stuff….I can’t see and don’t know where to find everything.”

I proceed to take him to the right aisles, read the list for him, and complete his task, while the ladies of my clan continue on with our list.

I made sure he made it towards the register and then caught up with my wife to clear up a few things…..

“If you ever….and I mean ever…send me to the store by myself when I can’t see and I’m 90 I’m gonna be so pissed that I will probably end up like one of those ‘get off my lawn’ guys. I’m sure all you woman think it’s funny to send us places we have no business going to just to know we will because you ask.” I angrily state.

She replies,

“You can’t place wholesale condemnation onto every married woman because of 1 incident. That’s not fair! Besides, I love going to the grocery store with you.”

I mutter some obscenity under my breathe and then reply,

“Yes dear.”

About 9.6 seconds later as we are browsing through the cheese section, a shopping cart slowly passes us.

The caretaker of the cart is a man who is hovering around the century mark and has a short list in his hand.

One over zealous flick of the wrist and a gust of wind at just the right time changed me to the core of my existence.

A single event. Maybe fate. Possibly destiny. Either way, if I would have the caught the disc that was thrown….instead of chasing it to where it ended up I wouldn’t be telling this story.

I was an awkward kid in the late ’70’s. Always last to be picked for any team, socially inadequate….just awkward.

It was around that time that a “toy” became quite popular.

The frisbee.

The joy of the frisbee was that it was so new that virtually everyone was awkward when trying to master it.

I was enamored with its simplicity.

A plastic disc.

That’s it.

The trick was to be able to master the correct throwing motion.

A perfect dance of bringing your arm back…just far enough, and then bringing it forward with your wrist cocked back….a flick of the wrist at just the right time with just the right angle and just the right velocity would send the disc airborne.

It was beautiful to watch it glide through the air….when it was thrown right, that is.

It would seem to glide forever.

The Boys and Girls Club was starting up a frisbee football team at the start of the school year which left me 3 months to not only learn to correctly throw the plastic disc but also to effortlessly steal it from it’s glide in mid air and catch it.

Both my parents worked, so I had to go there until they could pick me up. That has no bearing on the story just general information.

To achieve my goal, I enlisted my best and to be honest, only friend, Charles.

He was awkward like me,which was probably why we got along so well…and still do to this day.

Anyway, I bought a frisbee with my allowance and went to tell Charles my plan….

“Dude…you know we are no good at athletics….that’s why we are picked last to play but first to clean up after everyone…” Charles said.

“Yeah…but the beauty of this sport is NO ONE is good at it….so we stand a good a chance as anyone else if we try hard enough!” I replied.

“I guess,” he reluctantly answered, “How do you work this thing? It looks like a plate.”

“I’m really not sure….but that’s what the instructions are for! Let’s look at the basics and then try it out.”

“How about we go the the abandoned lot at the end of the block so no one will see us looking like idiots trying to work this frosbee thing…”

“Good idea..and it’s a FRISBEE not a frosbee, goober.”

As we walked toward the lot we read the instructions-

The Stance

Stand sideways to the direction that you want the frisbee to go. (Use your shoulder as a pointer.) Your feet should be about shoulder width apart, your knees slightly bent and most of your weight on the back foot.

The Grip

Hold the Frisbee along the edge that is facing the target. (That edge is called the leading edge.) Place your thumb on the top of the frisbee, your index finger along the edge and your other fingers underneath it. Your hold should be relaxed and the wrist should be loose.

The Flick

Stand with your elbow close to your body and your wrist bent inward so the side you are grasping is farthest away from you. It should almost touch your belly button and your hand and arm should be wrapped around the disk. The far edge that you are holding should be a couple of inches lower than the nearest edge so that the frisbee is tilted down and away from you. Practice a few times moving the wrist forward and backward keeping the frisbee on the same level. The forearm should move just a bit and the elbow should stay close to your body. With a smooth and speedy movement, flick your wrist forward and release the frisbee continuing to keep the outside edge tilted down.
The job of the flick is to create spin not cause the frisbee to travel far so at this point it will not travel far.

The Shift

Now that you’ve figured out the spin, you can add some distance. When you flick the wrist, transfer your weight onto the front foot and you can take a small step toward your target. Don’t make a big sweeping motion with your arm. The power is from the legs and the body, not the arm.

“Easy breezy Charlsey! You go stand over there and I will try first.”

I was as awkward as I always was. When I tried to throw it, it wouldn’t go straight, fly straight or even land straight. It looked like I was throwing an uncooked pizza.

After Charles got tired of chasing it to the left of him and to the right of him. He said it was his turn.

To our amazement, he was a natural.

His first throw glided gracefully over my head and into the fence at the back of the lot.

Charles shouted with glee,

“That was groovy! Why don’t you try to catch while I throw for a while!”

That was the beginning of our summer obsession. My throws improved but no where near as good as his. I worked on my catching skills while Charles perfected the throw.

Each morning he would come by my house and ask the same question,

“Feel like chasing the disc today?”

I was always just as excited as he.

We found something that we could do together that could quite possibly make us part of a team in a few months.

Then, unbeknownst to us, that day that the disc changed everything came.

Our day started out the same as always.

Time to chase the disc.

We went to the lot. It was a beautiful day. Sun was shining and a slight breeze was blowing.

We pretended we were on the football field. I started to run the routes that he called out and he would flick his wrist and let the disc fly. The chase was on.

Today was my day. Each route I ran was perfect. The throw was perfect. If was like the frisbee glided in slow motion every time he set it free. I caught each disc I chased.

Our spirits were gliding as effortlessly as the frisbee.

At some point during our game we heard voices calling out.

“MARCO!…..MARCO!”

At first, we ignored them.

Then one time, after his throw and during my chase, Charles yelled out,

The imagination train has left the station and left me on the platform with a ticket stub to Nowheresville.

I was talking to my coffee cup about this very thing this evening.

And this was his reply-

“Happens to every guy, sometimes this does.”

I asked in reply,

“So…..what do I do about it?”

“Creativity is not obtainable by drinking from the head of a Jedi master…it is to be learned, it must.”

“I try to be creative, old green one, it just comes out as ‘see jane …see Jane run…’ And that just won’t cut it.”

He squints his ceramic eyes and answers in the only way he knows how.

“Clear your mind must be, if you are to find the creative that dwells within. To be writer is to face the truth, and choose. Give off light, or darkness. Be a candle or the night.”

I ponder on his wisdom for a few second then pick him up and take a large sip of coffee from where the top of his head should be.

I then place him on the table and turn him to face me, so I can give him a proper reply.

“If I clear my mind of the clutter that clouds my creativity….then my imagination will be set free? Wow! That’s pretty good stuff from a ceramic goblet!”

He smiles his Jedi smile and replies,

“Secret, shall I tell you? Grand Master of Jedi Order am I. Won this job in a raffle I did, think you? ‘How did you know, how did you know, Master Yoda?’ Master Yoda knows these things. His job it is. Ceramic goblet gig just to pay bills it is.”

This is not about the movie first made in 1986….nor is it about the remake of the same movie that came out recently.

My life is not done in black or white…nor is it scripted or always end happily or is played in under 113 minutes.

My life is full of color, unpredictable and is constantly ongoing.

Anyhoo….

Last night, I went back to the place I walked away from almost a year ago.

An AA meeting.

Was I loaded?

On the verge of getting loaded?

Fighting back temptation the only way I knew how?

No…no…and…no.

I was asked to go, by my wife, and I said yes.

…………..

If it were only that simple, this post would be done.

She has asked me to go with her to AA functions repeatedly over the last year and my answer to the question was always the same…quick and concise.

“Nope.”

So why now?

I have made a few recent discoveries…that’s why…and here they are-

1- I am a stubborn ass.

2- I am missing out on an important part of my wife’s life by being a stubborn ass.

3- Choosing to stay at home alone and staring at the popcorn ceiling for hours wondering if it would actually taste like popcorn, instead of spending time with the woman I love in whatever capacity, further proves than I am a stubborn ass.

Ok…so I really just discovered 1 thing that encompasses a few more.

It is what it is.

Here is how it went down.

It was a speaker meeting where a topic would be picked and various members of the visiting group would share on the topic from behind the podium.

The visiting group was my old home group. We traveled about 50 miles to take the meeting to the other group.

We arrive early. My wife tells me,

“I didn’t tell anyone you were coming with me.”

My reply,

“Cool. No problem.”

But….

Inside my head the voices were carrying on a meeting of their own….

“DUDE!! you know she told everyone….they are probably planning to rope you back in!”

“Watch your back….bro.”

“Remember last time you ran into your first sponsor at the Christmas dealio? This will be worse….and you will be outnumbered….”

The voices are always sooo positive.

The Christmas fiasco was a doozy. My first sponsor was outside talking with a new comer. I went out to sit with them to avoid playing board games inside. He made the comment that I was in AA but quit for some reason.

I replied plainly,

“If you want to know why I quit going…..all you have to do is ask.”

He asked. I replied.

“I stopped going because I lost faith in and any sort of belief in a higher power….or God, if you will. Without that, the program ceased to work for me. I chose to stop going to avoid resentment or bitterness toward the program that saved my life.”

He paused for a second, then went into AA savior mode.

He quoted several passages from the big book and threw in a cliche for good measure….

“You know….good2begone…the program works if you work it.” He said as he stared confidently at me with his arms crossed in front of him.

I leaned in from my chair and said in a calm quiet tone,

“I stopped “working it” quite a few months ago….and I am still sober….and more at peace than I have been in a long time. Save it for someone who hasn’t heard your tired racket.”

The conversation that followed made the new guy so uncomfortable he got up and walked away from us and said –

“Wow…this is uncomfortable.”

It was.

But, my first sponsor gets off on that. He is very knowledgeable on the book….not so much on practicing or experiencing it. He is basically a big book bully. It worked for me when I first came into sobriety..not so much over 7 years later.

I walked over to where he was sitting and he said, as he shifted his cigar to one side of his mouth,

“Don’t sit next to me…I don’t want to get hit by the lightning.”

I did what anyone else would have done…

I sat next to him, patted him on the arm and said,

“Suck it up old man, it will only jolt ya for a second.”

He chuckled, looked me in the eye and said,

“It really good to see you.” and shook my hand.

The meeting started. I stayed seated and listened to what everybody had to say on the topic.

I didn’t freak out.

No one tried to kidnap me and place me in the 12 step padded room.

We had dessert and conversation afterward.

Before my old sponsor left, he shook my hand and said,

“My number is still the same…why don’t you make sure it still works in you phone sometime….by the way…I wasn’t joking when I said it is great to see you. I hope to see you again.”

Last night,

I went back.

Will I keep going back?

I don’t know.

The scenes of the future acts of my life have yet to be written.

Whatever those future acts have in store, I know that if I need help to get through them, I still have a place I can go, where there are people who know me and are willing to lend a hand, whether it has been a day or a year since they have seen me.

For some parents, this ritual of academic progress, is a time for reward.

High grades through the first 12 years of schooling grants a better opportunity for that child to continue their education in college.

For me…my decent grades in high school granted me that opportunity.

Given that opportunity, I used it to further my education in the arts….

As in…..the art of liquor consumption and a minor in Columbian exports.

(not me…put a fairly accurate photo of my intense study sessions)

I enrolled in my first semester of college….3 times….15 hours per effort….

When all was said and done, I amassed an astounding….9 credits.

College was not “my thing”.

I have 2 step kids that are currently in high school.

My stepdaughter is a freshman.

As this is her first year in the monster that is high school, she was quite disappointed to realize that students did not break out into song and dance between classes a la “Glee”.

Her perception was a bit….off key.

My stepson is a junior. He is well invested into the monster and is closer to getting out than remaining in.

We hope.

He has reached the stage that I know well.

Girls and work have taken priority over high school. My wife and I try to remind him how important education is, and how his grades will affect his opportunity for college….which he insists that he will be attending.

Somewhere in between, we have reached a language barrier that prevents us from getting our point across in a positive way.

We checked his 6 week grades, which were final as of Friday.

I believe we have found our language barrier.

He is taking Spanish….2. Looking at his grades in that class he will be eligible to take Spanish 3 next year and possibly look into a career as the American Ambassador to Mexico. His grade 87.

Seeing how we live in Texas, which last time I checked is still part of the USA, he is also required to take English. This class may effect his Ambassadorship….

I would think….that to be able to report back to your American counterparts after counter parting with your Mexican counterparts you would need to be able to count parts in English AND Spanish.